


Sherlock Holmes and the Surprise Party Surprise

by 2babyturtles



Series: CaseFics [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime, Detective, Eventual Johnlock, Gen, I have a plan I promise, Murder Mystery, Probably gonna be sad and tragic and then get happy, Whodunnit, casefic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: “Teenager, seventeen, died in the car outside his own surprise party. His mother found him. She’s a bit of a mess,” Lestrade responds, nodding at a woman crying into an orange blanket and talking to a police officer. “Boy pulled up and parked in the garage, he was supposed to meet his girlfriend there. Except he didn’t get out of the car and a note was found with the body.”





	1. That Seems Like a Terrible Gift

_“The dumber people think you are, the most surprised they're going to be when you kill them.” ~William Clayton_

* * *

 

Everything was perfect. The scene was set. Everyone who knew the soon-to-be victim was hiding in his home, using whatever they could for cover. Whatever it took, _they must not be seen._ Even the victim’s mother was waiting for him, although his father was notably missing. Seventeen year old Matthew Devons was on his way home, planning to meet his girlfriend there for a casual dinner with his family. A celebration for his birthday. He had no idea there was a mob waiting in his home for him to arrive. But that was the idea.

No one suspects a surprise party.

The decorations were carefully planned so that they could only be seen in the back yard, and not when the victim approached. They had worked together closely to ensure everything went off without a hitch and even Wonko the Clown, a gag entertainer from his best friend Steven, was waiting eagerly.

“I told him to park in the garage,” Mindy breathed excitedly, her face flushed and her chest heaving. “Well, I told him I’d meet him there. He should be here any minute,” she added, checking her phone.

“Leave it to the girlfriend to save the day,” Steven rolled his eyes, sliding over to give Mindy room to hide behind the couch with him.

“You’re welcome,” she responded sarcastically, taking the open spot with a playful smile.

After nearly twenty minutes, Matthew still hadn’t arrived. “I thought I heard his truck,” his mother remarks, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Me, too,” Mindy replied, checking her phone again. “He hasn’t texted or anything. You don’t think he’s still waiting in the garage?” she asked, smirking.

Ronald, another of Matthew’s school friends, shrugged. “He is a bit thick,” he laughed. “Maybe someone should check?”

“I’ll do it,” Matthew’s mother said. “He’s only expecting me and Mindy here and this way you guys can still surprise him.” Scattered agreements sounded across the room as his friends and coworkers nodded and muttered vague responses, and Matthew’s mother stood up.

Climbing out of her hiding space under the dining table, Matthew’s mother checked out the front window before making her way to the garage. Only Mindy’s car was out front, the others hidden around the corner, and she shook her head. “Silly boy,” she commented as she padded down the hall to the interior garage door.

A few minutes passed.

And then a scream.

Matthew’s friends glanced at each other, confused, and Mindy rushed out to the garage to check on his mother. A second scream sounded, followed by broken sobbing. “Call an ambulance,” Mindy screamed as she ran back inside. “Somebody’s killed Matty!”

Sherlock and John arrive at the scene just half an hour after Lestrade texts them. Their cabby is scowling, evidently displeased with making such a long trip outside of London, but the pay is good and he takes the notes John offers him without complaint. As usual, Lestrade had offered them a ride, and as usual, Sherlock had refused.

“Took you long enough,” Lestrade grumbles, greeting them where they stand in the driveway.

“Evidently not,” Sherlock responds haughtily. “Anderson is still here. I was hoping he’d be gone by the time we arrived.”

Lestrade gaps openly at the consulting detective. “Did you dilly dally just so you don’t have to work with Anderson? I’ll send him away!”

Grunting some form of acknowledgement, Sherlock makes his way up the driveway to the open garage where the majority of the Yard is, not bothering to offer more of a response. Lestrade shakes his head but follows, shooting an exasperated glance at John who frowns sympathetically. Ducking past the yellow crime scene tape and holding it aloft for John, Sherlock scans the scene as they approach.

“What happened?” Sherlock asks nonchalantly.

“Teenager, seventeen, died in the car outside his own surprise party. His mother found him. She’s a bit of a mess,” Lestrade responds, nodding at a woman crying into an orange blanket and talking to a police officer. “Boy pulled up and parked in the garage, he was supposed to meet his girlfriend there. Except he didn’t get out of the car and a note was found with the body.”

“Suicide?” John asks. “Carbon monoxide poisoning?”

“It looks like it was the fumes that killed him, but it wasn’t a suicide note.” Reaching into his pocket, Lestrade offers him a handwritten note on lined paper. “Nothing like this found in the truck so the killer must’ve brought it with them.”

John unfolds the note and Sherlock peers over his shoulder, careful not to look too interested in the case just yet. “’If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll hurt him again. You’re lucky he’s just unconscious and next time it won’t go so well’,” John reads aloud. “’Twenty-five thousand pounds or next time the boy dies.’ That’s odd, isn’t it?” he asks, handing the note to Sherlock. “No directions, no information? And obviously he’s not just unconscious, so something must’ve gone wrong.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agrees, examining the creases in the paper. “Why wouldn’t they be more careful?”

“’They’?” Lestrade asks. “More than one?”

Sherlock pulls back, apparently surprised. “I did say that, didn’t I? Wonder why….”

“If ‘they’ killed him with the fumes from his own truck, how’d they get him to stay in place? Tie him down or anything?” John asks, airing his own curiosities as they approach the scene more closely.

“See for yourself,” Lestrade responds. “We don’t know much more than you.”

John nods, approaching the body in the driver’s seat and beginning his own examination. Sherlock still seems drawn to the letter and finally passes it back to Lestrade with a satisfied smile. “They,” he confirms, emphasizing the word. “Look at the handwriting. Neat, precise, very careful. This was planned in advance. Like you said, they couldn’t have written it on anything in the vehicle. But the crease is sloppy and crooked. So the writer and the person who put it in the truck are two different people.”

Lestrade gaps at the paper, looking at it again to confirm what Sherlock said. A smirk tugs at John’s mouth but he represses it before it’s seen, preferring not to be caught smiling over a corpse. “Couldn’t someone have written the note when they had time and then rushed it at the end?”

“Unlikely,” Sherlock replies, his attention drifting to the truck’s exhaust pipe. “If they’d had lots of time or resources, they’d have written it on something nicer. And again, if they brought the note with them? One person could’ve kept it neat, folded it in advance, and brought it. It wouldn’t be so inconsistent.”

“Why bother with neat handwriting at all?” John asks, his own attention pulled to the conversation.

“They knew it’d be recognized,” Sherlock decides. “The victim knew their killer.”

John nods. “Might explain why it was so easy to keep him here,” he agrees.

“You said they were here for a surprise party?” Sherlock asks, crouching to look inside the exhaust and examining the bottom of the car. “What for?”

Lestrade glances up at John, who shrugs. “What do you mean?”

“What were they surprising him with?” he pushes, running a finger around the inside of the pipe and checking the color of the stain left on his skin.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Believe it or not,” Sherlock responds coolly, standing and moving to the passenger side of the car. “I don’t spend a lot of time at parties. Their varying types are a mystery to me.”

Lestrade laughs again, receiving an irritated scoff from Sherlock as he leans through the car to view the body opposite John. “It’s a birthday party,” John mutters. “Friends and family get together and setup a party without telling the person whose birthday it is and when he walks in they all jump out and surprise him.”

“That’s normal?” Sherlock asks, looking alarmed.

“Quite.”

Coughing to clear his throat, Sherlock leans back out of the truck and looks at Lestrade awkwardly. “I only meant to ask what all was involved with the party, Detective Inspector. I should’ve been more clear.”

Lestrade looks as if he might make another joke but catches John’s eye through the truck’s rear window and gets serious very quickly. “It’s fine,” he blurts, “there were about ten guests here, including the victim’s mother, girlfriend, two of his best friends, a couple of coworkers, and Wonko.”

“Wonko?”

Lestrade nods towards a clown, dressed up with a massive blue afro and black and white face paint. “Ugh,” John grunts, disgusted. “Not a very good clown, is he?”

“Apparently it was supposed to be a gag gift sort of thing. Kid hated clowns,” Lestrade grimaces. “Can’t blame him. Bloody awful things. I’ll talk to him later once the makeup is off.”

Sherlock examines the clown for a moment before turning back to John, a hundred questions burning in his eyes. “Normal?” he asks quietly.

“Normal,” John confirms.

“That seems like a terrible gift,” Sherlock decides wholeheartedly, returning to the body.

“Yes, well, murder is a worse one.”


	2. Do You Know Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John turns to look at his friend’s face, disbelief plain in his own expression. “You can’t possibly know that,” he says after a moment, breaking Sherlock’s focus and drawing his gaze.
> 
> “Of course I can.”

_“’How to Commit the Perfect Murder’ was an old game in heaven. I always chose the icicle: the weapon melts away.” – Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones_

“Why did it have to be a surprise party?” John grumbles, standing beside Sherlock and writing down the list of names Lestrade had shown him. “Why couldn’t it be a surprise gathering? Two people? Easy.”

“Most of these people are not suspects,” Sherlock responds distantly, his eyes locked on the victim’s friend Steven. “Only a few are worth even considering.”

John turns to look at his friend’s face, disbelief plain in his own expression. “You can’t possibly know that,” he says after a moment, breaking Sherlock’s focus and drawing his gaze.

“Of course I can.”

“No, you can’t. There’s ten guests here, you heard Lestrade.” John holds aloft his piece of paper, the names all cleanly written in black ink. “Friends, family, coworkers, Wonko, you can’t possibly rule them out without talking to them.”

Sherlock cocks an eyebrow, and examines his friend’s expression with a haughty smirk. Taking the list and peering at it for a moment, he begins talking quickly. “Coworkers can be dismissed, he wasn’t close to any of them and they wouldn’t have killed him at home, it’s too risky. Wonko can also be dismissed, although we’ll talk to him because I’m curious. That leaves two friends, his mom, and the girlfriend.”

Gaping like a fish, John moves fast to star the names Sherlock suggested. “How do you know the killer was here? Does it have to be one of these people?”

“No, of course not. But you were complaining about having to talk to them all, so I ruled some of them out. We’ll add more later. Come along now.” Without waiting for a response, he trudges away towards the victim’s mother, a middle-aged woman with hefty tear streaks staining an otherwise lovely face.

John shoves the paper in his pocket and follows behind him, not bothering to catch up. The distance is short and by the time he joins the interrogation, the woman is only just introducing herself.

“Eliza Burnes,” she says with a surprisingly clear voice, evidently answering a question John hadn’t heard Sherlock ask.

The detective prods further, jumping immediately to his first line of inquiry. “And you loved your son?” John can’t help turning to look at the man, disbelief painted on his face again.

“Of course I love my son! Loved my son…,” she starts crying again and the impact on her quality of speech is massive. “My beautiful boy,” she whimpers. John resists the urge to pat her arm, hoping Sherlock has a reason for being so cruel.

“Can you describe your relationship for me?” Sherlock presses.

“What relationship?” Eliza responds quickly, too quickly, and even John is surprised.

He raises an eyebrow and clarifies for Sherlock: “With your son?” Sherlock nods, agreeing with the correction, although his eyes narrow suspiciously.

The woman clears her throat and uses the corner of the orange blanket around her shoulders to wipe her tears. She’s more careful with her words now and it’s clear that she’s going to cooperate more easily now. “We’ve always been close. He and his father don’t get along well and that’s put a strain on things but we’ve always been close. He’s my boy.”

“Is that why his father wasn’t here for the party?” John asks, falling into his usual role as the people-person of the two. Sherlock’s attention is drifting and soon he will pursue some new interest.

“Sort of,” Eliza answers slowly. “He and I don’t get on either and I think he was afraid that…well that there would be guests here he doesn’t want to see.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock blurts suddenly, startling Eliza more than John, who only rolls his eyes at the outburst.

She opens her mouth to respond but John interrupts, doing his best to smooth things over: “Not ‘excellent’ like that’s good—“

“It’s fantastic!”

“—but ‘excellent’ like that’s very helpful information.” He grabs Sherlock’s sleeve and pulls him away from the woman, doing his best to ignore the look of excitement on the detective’s face. “Thank you for all your help, we’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.”

The woman gaps at them as they walk away but is interrupted by one of Lestrade’s officers who was no doubt warned to intercept should things get awkward. Sherlock has a way of making crime scenes uncomfortable for the people who wish it weren’t a crime scene at all, and most of the Yard has learned to run damage control. Safely out of ear shot, John turns to Sherlock, only to discover the excitement has gone from his face.

“What’re you on about?” he asks, pulling the list of names from his pocket and putting a check by _Eliza Burnes._

“That’s two more suspects,” Sherlock replies, eyes already scanning the gathered people for his next source of information.

“Two more?”

“The father and whomever Eliza Burnes is sleeping with. Shouldn’t be hard to find that out.”

Taken aback, John stares for a moment before writing _Father_ and _Affair_ at the bottom of his list. He frowns and shoves it back in his pocket, resigning himself to yet another case he doesn’t understand. He considers himself a fairly clever man but can’t possibly keep up with Sherlock. “It wasn’t here, though,” John asserts, latching onto the one thing he is suddenly quite sure of.

Sherlock flicks his gaze towards him, curiosity evident in his eyes. “Quite so, John. Very good. Do you know why?”

“The dad would’ve blamed her, right? She might want to get back at him, but it wouldn’t do her any good to try to kill the kid where it was most obvious it was her, and she would’ve targeted the dad for ransom then, not herself.” John nods, satisfied he covered all of it.

Sherlock’s smirk makes him suddenly doubt that. “All good points, except that if the victim isn’t getting on with his father, it wouldn’t really be a good way to get back at him anyway, would it? Besides, she’s collecting child support. No, the father is a much more likely suspect than little Eliza Burnes.”

John’s mouth twists into a smirk, earning a surprised expression from the detective, who can’t place the source of the humor there. “You do know a bit about people then, eh?”

Scoffing, Sherlock doesn’t respond, simply aiming towards his next suspect and heading towards him on the sidewalk. John follows and glances at his list, realizing with a small smile that Sherlock is pursuing leads in the order John wrote them down, making it the easiest to check them off. _Steven_ is next and the boy on the sidewalk with tousled black hair fits the description Lestrade provided. He’s not sure whether Sherlock knows he’ll figure that out, but he makes a note not to tell him. Perhaps indeed, the detective knows more about people than he lets on.


End file.
